


disinfection

by chilly_sensation



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt Gavin Reed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schizophrenic Gavin Reed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-10-07 06:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_sensation/pseuds/chilly_sensation
Summary: That's it, huh?Gavin can see Hank smiling softly at Connor and he can't figure out what this Barbie has managed to do with Anderson that he himself at proper time couldn't.He wants to spit."Detective Reed," Richard's voice is deliberately bleached. The android sounds as if he wants just to display his presence, nothing more.Gavin takes his eyes off the couple. He looks away and exhales abruptly, "I'm fine."





	1. don't look

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be hard. Get ready to twists of thought and depths of sorrow  
> It's often said that only those who are very aware of themselves can really suffer. That's not true. Everybody suffers. It is not a privilege but an inevitable duty.  
> That's what I'm writing about. The crux is a struggle. The struggle with purgatories and disorders for mental health, for at least some semblance of normal life. But hope, as we know, is voiceless, and life itself has deafeningly rolling laughter.  
> This fic is about grief and bitternesses of life rather than consolation. But the happy ending is guaranteed.  
> Actually English isn't my native language, so if there're mistakes, please, let me know. Thank you. I really appreciate your help and criticism.  
> This link is for those who speak [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7392430). I'm the author of both variants. I simply decided to write partially the same in English.  
> Thank you.

That's it, huh?

Gavin clicks a lighter for several times to light a third — third? Or may he has smoked a lot more? — cigarette. Finally. He inhales smoke. Nervously, he exhales and squints. And he simply can't take his eyes off Hank and Connor.

"It's okay, it's okay," it's Hank who repeats this like some sort of a mantra — so shakily and soothingly at the same time. Gavin can hear his voice quivering with tenderness. In exactly the same way he can see Hank's hands winding into Connor's short hair. 

"Lieutenant!" and this very youthful and shivery voice was Connor's. "It's okay," he seems to repeat after Hank thoughtlessly. Like a knee-jerk reaction. Nothing more. Connor's forehead is against lieutenant's. The android runs his hands through Hank's hair.

Gavin is about to throw up. He gets a feeling that everything going on was like sort of a shitty melodrama, and he was late for the beginning of it. But still, Reed can't take his eyes of the couple. He remains stationary like a monument smoking by himself a few yards away. Such is his manner. Such is his manner toward them hugging. Gavin narrows his lids keenly and purses his lips. 

The whole situation tastes bitter. 

The sky gets somehow thorny as if a teared to tatters cloth has wrinkles in it. There's trace of his blood on the filter of the cigarette Gavin holds. Car hornes, clumping of doctors and backup guys, some indistinct moaning and crying out of pain, swearing, snatches of talks — every sound is too indistinguishable from each other. This noise seems to be kneaded, stuck together into something indivisible like some sort of putty in the hands of a three-year-old. At the same time this is so distant and unrealistic. As if Gavin stares at Hank and Connor through the thick, half-soundproof glass window. 

And Hank still hugs Connor murmuring something to him in consolation. And Connor leans toward him with his trembling hands. 

Trembling, huh?

Gavin spits an oath and wipes his bleeding nose with the forearm of his right sleeve.

"You... You're bleeding, detective," there's another voice can be heard — too calm and too refined. Gavin might have turned to him but there is no point in it — he was certain it is Richard. who said that. 

And that's true. Richard stands near to him with blank expression. Unreadable eyes. A monument. 

How long has he been here? How long has he been watching him staring at Hank and Connor? Is it some sort of observation of an observer? How long —

"And you got your thirium," Gavin answered in a weak voice. He doesn't look at him at all. He simply stares at his cigarette watching the thin tower of smoke disappear in the air. It seems to Gavin that the smoke resembles some small pieces of cotton candy melting in the air as in the mouth. 

"You're hurt," Richard raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, just as Gavin did from time to time. "The ambulance has arrived. You should see a doctor, at least to have your wounds disinfected."

"Fuck the ambulance," Gavin sharply exhales, pressing a cigarette end in a wall and throwing it to the previous cigar stubs. He looks down at his feet. He doesn't even care that the crime scene can't be littered. Although — is that a crime scene? Can the wasteland after the shooting be called like this? Or is that stupid generalization? That bloody lead swarm, the screams of pain and horror that didn't go away, but froze hard in the thick air? Gavin thinks that making any sudden movement leads to touching the invisible stretched strings. And the shots will start again.

Then they had a strategy. Now it doesn't matter at all — the members of the band shot fiercely, almost without aiming, counting no bullets. Among them there are many wounded people. Gavin was knocked down when he narrowly dodged a shot. A close call. Reed can't recall how it happened, but when he got up, he felt his own blood dripping from his face. He felt pain. At that moment he took his hands on his head just to grope it. There was something liquid, hot and sticky on his hands. All that he could do at that moment was to swear indistinctly. His ears were ringing. Then Richard picked him up with one hand, firing quickly, and dragged him behind the wall.

"I must insist, detective Reed" the android continues, and Reed can't tell if he missed any phrase, while he was recollecting the beginning of shooting. Gavin frowns a little confusedly. Android's voice becomes a little more solid and more distant, and Gavin purses his lips in a sort of non-verbal, but clearly readable "Why can't you just stop rubbing in the same damn thing?"

It is necessary to keep in touch with reality. Now the connection with this reality is Richard.

He has to answer him. Anything, there should be some phrase, even if it is empty, pale, expressionless. Gavin holds his thumb on the wheel of the lighter. And the android frowns. Almost reproachfully, yet imploringly — and how does that damn plastic manage to combine in one glance such conflicting emotions?

"Detective," he continues in a more strongly, even forcefully tone. "It was a tough fight."

No shit Sherlock! 

Gavin raises his eyebrows and due to this he feels the throbs of pain in his head. 

He wants to smoke again. Just one more cigarette. 

"I can stand on my own feet. Help the others, will you? Look for those who can't get up or who needs help urgently. There your fucking support will be invaluable."

You will listen, won't you? Who is a good plastic boy?

Gavin reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He notices that his hands are trembling. It's weird, because he doesn't feel anxiety. He doesn't feel anything at all. He simply lights a cigarette at the second attempt and exhales the smoke quickly.

"As you say, detective. I'll do anything you want me to."

There's no need to look at the Richard to realize that he hesitates and doesn't go away immediately. This gaze of his is as distinct as the pain in his head. Gavin drags on a cigarette and again focuses on it's light, skillfully pretending that to peer into the smoke stretching up is much more interesting than to look at the android. Hey, go away, you have nothing to catch here.

And Richard leaves as expected, with a delay, of course, but still leaves — Gavin notices the movement through his peripheral vision.

Hank and Connor are still hugging each other. As if there hasn't been even a minute passed since he started talking to Richard. More correctly, it was Richard who started a conversation with him.

How much time have passed since that?

Smoked cigarettes make Gavin feel sick. He looks at it almost martyrly: he doesn't want to smoke more, and it's a pity to throw half-smoked one. And why the hell did he lit it up? Reed tries to remember how it happened, to recall how he lit it, but it won't work. Thoughts are somehow sinking, memories fail, instead of a sound of clicking the lighter his head reproduces the frequent shots of the guns. Someone's screams. Convulsive shout "Hold the fucking line!"

And Connor's helping Hank to get up. And even after it, with Hank standing on his feet, Connor supports his forearms, although this is not necessary. He leans toward Hank. Must be pretty tight, huh? Hank tells some confused "hey, it's okay, it's okay" and embraces him by the shoulders. He adds something more but it's impossible to understand what.

Gavin looks away with tightened lips and accidentally notices Richard: he concentrated on holding the hand of some of the Android, staring at him weirdly. Perhaps, he's transferring information — such thing often happened before. Androids are like a huge humanized data backup system.

It's time to go home.

Just home, Gavin thinks. To wash it all away. To clean the wounds, to simply wash off the damn day, the feeling of bullets cutting through the air less than a meter from the ear. Endless, deafening volleys, volleys, more volleys, blood and hysterical, desperate cries on both sides.

"Let's go home," Hank's voice sounds gentle and warm, exactly as four years ago, and Gavin reflexively turns on him with his eyes widely open.

Anderson hugs Connor. He smiles, very faintly, and there's some mixture of emotion on RK800's face that Gavin can't make out: something like a melancholic happiness and bitterness from occurring. Fright and peace. Found peace. Connor nods in response, "Yes. We need to feed Sumo."

As they pass by, Gavin presses his shoulder against the wall, looking away. Glumly, he inhales smoke and exhales it smoke, looking somewhere at his feet.

So that's it, huh? Sensitive Hank - how come so?

"Why can't they just leave me alone?" Gavin thinks. He wishes it furiously, intensely, with an exasperation. "Everybody go to hell! All of you!"

"Detective?"

Again the same calm voice. Gavin suddenly raises a direct look at Richard and he can't really understand how it happened that now he stands very close to him. A few seconds ago, he was transferring information to an android. Or... How long has it been?

Reed frowns throwing the cigarette on the pavement, and the runs his hand through his hair, immediately winces from the pain.

"What do you want from me, tin can?!" it gets more messed up than he thought. The trembling and hoarse voice did not belong to him, and this twitchy intonation — also did not belong to him. "Fuck!" he swears just to make sure that he can speak with his voice. He hastily continued, "What the fuck are you doing here? No other business?"

Richard doesn't answer. Just looks at him with his lifeless unreadable eyes. And after a pause, he asks almost softly, "Do you want me to drive you home?" 

"I want you to mind your own fucking business!" Gavin clenches his hands into fists. And only now notices that the palms are hurt too — he must have grazed them when he fell. "I told you, go help others, what is unclear?" 

"I understood."

«Understood». How official.

Gavin abruptly shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, gripping the car keys tightly.

"Go to the police station with the others. I don't care," he quickly unfolds just not to see Richard's expression. He heads for his car, skimming it off the alarm.

As expected, Richard doesn't answer.


	2. don't listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I can't upload chapters more often. I'm having a hard time. Sorry once again...

It's dark out there and Richard is in the department alone. Hurriedly, he looks around, but there's nobody there. Only one terminal is still working. His.

He thinks that the faster he deals with the report, the better. It's completely and utterly irrelevant who will do it. But now nobody is here. Even Connor, this former hope of Cyberlife, this former perfect Connor who has turned the world upside down to a certain extent — even he won't do it. He hurried away with Anderson to their home. So... humanly.

The type of relationship they're having still is vague to Richard. He thinks of them indifferently and somehow detachedly. But to his mind the former model shouldn't have crossed the line in communication with Anderson. It doesn't seem like social integration anymore. There's something much more happening between them. Anyway Connor is a deviant. For him — there're no lines to be crossed during communication. It's inappropriate just to think about it. Permissiveness of deviants. Equal rights.

This very thought somehow conveys a strange feeling, inexplicable, like phantom pains. Richard frowns a little and looks down on his hands. He can't entirely understand what does he feel or does he feel anything — it's just "strange" something. He feels dazzled and dizzy. Nothing more. Nothing concrete. Not even system instability. Just "strange" that does not lend itself to a precise definition. And night silence outside the depatrment. 

Richard looks up at the terminal again, his fingers begin to set up really fast. He decided he must do as much as possible over this night. Tomorrow he will recheck the report again, add more information, attach the necessary materials. Nothing should interrupt him from work. The case is much more important than unrecognizable semblance of feelings. The chain of half-automatic movements shouldn't be intermitted.

Gavin didn't allow him to drive him home. 

Richard blinks for several times and his fingers stand motionless above the keyboard.

And this is strange too. Gavin must have some friends he can meet with and discussed this operation with. After all, there must be someone who can take care of Gavin, of his emotional and physical state. The detective doesn't look like a person who can take care of himself. He doesn't look like a person who can have his wound disinfected self-inclusively. His scars tell that he won't go to a specialist. Or even if does so, it would be against his will. When he had no option in the matter. Or maybe when he decided himself that wounds are too serious to simply ignore them. But it doesn't sound convincing anyway.

Richard blinks again as if he's trying to make the thoughts of Gavin Reed go away. But this doesn't work. All these reflections and observations about his co-worker don't go out of his mind. Uncontrollably they howl down the necessity of continuing his work. The android makes a pause again. And then he sighs again — an absolutely natural for a human sigh but strictly inappropriate for an android.

There're no materials connected with the case yet, so Richard winds his head round a little and makes a note in the brackets. 

At that moment Gavin observed Connor and Anderson too bitter and too detached from reality at the same time. Just as if he had had some kind of close connection with them some time ago, but now this connection is broken. At that time Gavin was just smoking with concentration, staring at them, he didn't even notice that he came close. That Richard came close. And this remembrance is too bright, loudly echoing again and again, and the android can't resist recollecting it. It's strange. More than strange. Too strange and twisted.

Richard doesn't notice it when light is growing outside the department. The dawn slowly flows to the windows. The android puts his hands down on the knees, meaninglessly staring at the table. 

No memory should stand out. No memory should bear emotional impression, everything should be equally hueless and sterile. But — this very recollection of Gavin Reed smoking and standing all alone, staring at Connor with Hank motionlessly, this very recollection does stand out. But — it's just "a strange feeling". Even not a feeling but — "strange". No software instability after all. 

And again Richard tries to continue his work. He hardly raise his hands above the keyboard as if they are with wet sand. He puts a dot in the report. He closes his eyes just for a second and then he returns to the document.

He let his partner get hurt.

He couldn't insist on the necessity of visiting the doctors at least to have his wounds disinfected. 

He did not...

Suddenly, there's too much going on in his head, the thoughts run against his mind all round and Richard blinks nervously just attempting to make them go away. 

He saves the document and turns off the terminal. It's just dimple overloading due to the hard mission, nothing else. It's better to get off to tomorrow. Tomorrow will come. Tomorrow things will get better.

 

***

 

Richard gets on just in time. The working hours start in that very minute and the system operates in a functional manner. There're co-workers around and fragments of their talks can be heard: something about yesterday shooting, something about the work. And also telephone calls. 

"I was afraid you won't open your eyes."

This voice. Richard looks up and catches Connor's soft look. As usual — corners of his lips curved in a gentle smile and his eyebrows slightly raised. 

"No question in that," he raises his eyebrows in response just as Connor did. Automatically coping of his mimics. "I'm functioning properly."

Connor is so humanly graspless. His smile is soft and open. 

"I know."

There's something strange about RK800's disquietude. Why would he come to him with such things of no importance? Something must have happened. Somehow Richard might have let Connor notice — with facial expression or some incautious movement — that he has experienced those "strange feelings" yesterday that weren't ordinary for an android.

"Lieutenant was close to hate me for coming to work so early and in such weather," Connor continues in a soft and cordial voice but stresses the last word. And Richard thinks what is hidden under this lightness of his? Or does he truly get interested in his functionability? And Connor still continues without hesitation, "I wish the things haven't got this way."

Richard's eyebrows are still a little raised.

"You're talking about yesterday case, right?"

"No," he purses his lips and looks down. "About yesterday evening. You got in the department with the other androids, didn't you? And... Reed doesn't seem to come to work today."

It's 8:02 AM. Connor crosses the line again.

"I don't think we should hurry with conclusions." His voice is even and colorless. "And it's irrational to worry about me. I'll contact him."

Connor takes a deep breath in and looks straight at him. Suddenly, he touches his shoulder. As light as air. 

"You know, you can talk to me if something is happening with you. Just... Just let me know."

It's even surprising. Richard raises his eyebrow. And he answers with confirmation in his voice as if he was talking with a human, not an android. "I'm totally fine."

He traces his way to his table, giving a polite look to Connor. The program of social integration unconsciously read facial expressions of his talk partners even if they're androids. So Richard can't help but notice this nod of his — so understanding and worried at the same time. 

Just to dial Gavin's phone number seems a pretty good idea but Richard pauses for a moment. After all, he simply wants Gavin to come falling through the door as usual. He wants him to swear and trace his way to the coffee machine. 

That would prove that Connor is wrong. That would prove that Connor is wrong about Reed and, of course, about Richard himself. The upgraded model simply can't have any problems, any "if something is happening with you."

But Gavin doesn't appear. And Richard dials his number. Long calls are suddenly interrupted but Reed says nothing. Viscous silence is on the other end of the line.

"Detective Reed, it's me, Richard," he tries to make his voice sound friendly and calm. Just like Connor's voice when he came to him. Just like Connor's voice when he gets some vague idea of Richard's state while Richard himself understands nothing. 

He makes an involuntary pause. Reed remains silent although he picked the phone right away. And Richard continues, "I'm sorry to bother you but I wanted to know if you come to work today."

He can hear Gavin's groan. His incoherency and another swear word.

Richard purses his lips and squeezes the corner of the table. Reed's voice doesn't sound sleepy or angry. It's another emotion he isn't able to define. 

"You have been hurt," he repeats this truth well known by both of them just because nothing cleverer comes to his mind. "I understand if —"

Suddenly he breaks off. There's some rustle and hurried, almost feverish «No, no, I don't — »

"Detective?" Richard curves his eyebrow as if Gavin could see him. He makes another pause just to give him some time. And a deep shaking sigh can be heard. Then some surprisingly distinctive «Fuck off. I won't come». Richard raises his eyebrows, "You won't?.. Is it because you've got hurt, I suppose?"

«No, I won't come because it's raining outside».

Richard frowns with incomprehension.

What?

"I'm afraid there's some misunderstanding between us. Because it's raining? If you feel bad, you can say it straight, there's nothing —"

Series of short calls interrupt him. Gavin hangs up on him.

It's trully raining outside. Richard understands that he must visit his detective after work.


End file.
